My Son
by anakinlove
Summary: He was never meant to become my son, yet he did anyway.


_**So, I haven't given Tim a whole lot of attention and he's feeling neglected so here is seven pages of Timmy. There is no action, no plot, no real purpose, just cuddles. If you want to read story, get a comic book. Fan Fiction is for cuddles and other things the characters would never do in cannon. **_

He was never meant to become my son, yet he did anyway. And now, watching him out there, chattering with Conner, well, it just… it just doesn't seem fair that he's growing up so damn fast. He's already sixteen. He'll leave me soon and again, I'll be without a little one. For the third time in my life, I'll be without a little one. It wasn't a good feeling with the last two and it won't be a good feeling with this one.

I want him to stay this way so badly. He looks over at me, grins and waves. I smile and wave back. He tosses his hair, beams at me and goes back to his conversation with Conner. As he speaks, he lifts himself up so that his body completely vertical and, perched on his fingertips, points his toes skyward in a perfect one-armed handstand.

If it were Dick or Jason, I'd know it was just showing off, but it's Tim so I know he's just enjoying himself. He revels in the things he can do. Jason used his abilities effectively and showed them off. For Dick, it was just a second skin, he'd been doing things us mortals only dreamed of since before he could talk. For Tim, there was a kind of intrinsic delight in all he could do.

I handle the box in my hand, passing it back and forth between my fingers as I stand with the rest of the League, not really listening, too busy watching my son. I love watching him. In fact, I delight in him. He gives me such joy I simply can't take my eyes off him. If I do for one second, I fear he might just disappear.

Timothy Drake Wayne. Such a wonderful name, one of the best I've ever heard. Wayne. My surname, my child. Though I had told him at the time it was to give him the security of having a home, that wasn't the total truth behind the adoption. It was also my way of laying claim to him, of attaching a tag to him that no one could take away. He bore my mark and so he was mine.

I can hear him a bit over the rabble Superman is making, how he is describing one of his latest battles with Killer Croc. "So then, I went pow!" He performs a perfect back flip for emphasis, laying a heavy kick to the air. Conner grins.

"Yea right, you probably hid behind Batman the entire time whimpering." Tim rolls his eyes and falls into a handstand again.

"I'm not scared of anything", he replies, grinning at Conner.

"Ohh yea", Conner sneers playfully, and then gives Tim a shove. I tense slightly, ready to rush to his aid should he injure himself in the fall, but I needn't bother. Tim topples, but rolls and snakes back up to leap on Conner's shoulders, shoving him earthward.

I need to talk to that Kryptonian clone about being gentle. If he doesn't curb his strength, he'll hurt Tim. But, I know Tim would only resent my interference. "He's not a doll", I tell myself, "He's not made of glass."

Watching Tim and Conner wrestle across the floor together, it is evident that Conner is holding back quite a bit. In a contest of brute strength, Conner takes the crown, hands down. But, he plays with Tim anyway, wrestling with him the way Dick sometimes does, when Dick is around that is, a reality that is depressingly not as evident as before.

But, when Conner plays with Tim, he treats him almost like one would treat a kitten, batting him gently away, and drawing him foreward again. He would never want to hurt his friend. Conner gives Tim a particularly rough shove and Tim grunts before leaping back into their playful fray. I have to remind myself not to intervene, to tell myself that they're boys and boys play a little rough.

Conner casts me a half glance and immediately remembers himself, reining in his raw power. He knows how protective I can be sometimes. Conner may romp as roughly as he likes with Clark (if he does, something I'm not sure of as Clark doesn't seem to be the most interested father figure) but with Tim, he must play nice.

Conner doesn't resent me for it though. Tim can take an awful lot, but Conner can be protective too, sometimes more so that me. Conner doesn't know Tim's limits like I do and can underestimate him easily. I suppose it's not his fault. Tim is both small for his age and slimmer than usual; my lightly boned, acrobatic boy. He looks so fragile.

Tim resents being mollycoddled by his friend and though he knows Conner must hold back when they romp, he makes sure it's not too much. He wants to get his feathers ruffled a bit. I'd encourage him to find a friend more within his power range, but Conner gives him such joy.

Tim delights in small things like the wind in his hair or the taste of something sweet. He finds bliss in my scent, Dick's touch or Conner's laugh. It's such a refreshing thing to experience.

Because he can find joy in such simple things, he is a joy to be around, lighting the lives of everyone. Though Dick wears his heart on his sleeve and Tim only lets things out when he sees fit, the boy is so much more receptive to the world around him. His mood can be dampened by the rain on the roof or lifted by the sun his face, you just can't always tell that it's changing.

Conner tosses Tim in the air and catches him on the down arc. He's bigger than Tim; it's almost comical to see them together, yet they fit so perfectly, like different pages from the same story. I don't know what it's like to have a friend like that, but I can only imagine it feels good.

Dick and I used to confide in each other and play around when he and I were a lot younger, but it was different. Dick was, for all intensive purposes, my son and our relationship reflected that. Though on purpose he kept nothing from me, there were things we didn't talk about or do because they were the kinds of things one enjoys with their best friend, not their father.

I never resented that, well, not really. I understood. I had to command respect in order to properly raise him, but there were days when I wished I was just his best friend and not his mentor. We shared a bond that was more rewarding and fulfilling for both of us than either had ever felt before and I wouldn't have traded it for the world, yet some days, things would have been so much simpler if I wasn't so much older.

My relationship with Tim is the much same way, though it differs in many respects when compared to mine with Dick. On a certain level, I double as Dick's older brother. In some ways, we are closer. I share his jokes and tell many of my own. We are friends. It's not really that way with Tim.

Though we are wonderfully close, Tim and I aren't really friends, at least not in the same way he and Conner are. I am his protector, more his father. I don't really know how I feel about this, but I don't see how it could be any other way. I don't know why it is either.

Perhaps it has to do with the fact that the age gap between Tim and I is so much more vast than it is between Dick and I. Perhaps it is because Tim already has an older brother figure in Dick. Or perhaps it is simply because Tim needs a father figure more so than Dick ever did, having been in want of one for so long. When Dick lost his father, I quickly swept in to fill the void. Tim lost his father before the man ever died, or perhaps, he never really had one.

Superman calls the meeting to a close and bids us all fair well. I nod in the general direction of everyone who says goodbye to me and make my way over to where Tim is. He's lying on the ground next to Conner and they're talking a mile a minute about something I didn't quite catch.

He looks up at me and asks brightly, "Time to go?" I nod and offer him a hand up. He takes it gratefully though he hardly needs it to easily gain his feet. Just to be fair, I offer a hand to Conner too, which he takes as well, smiling at me. My name and my face have become, for him at least, synonymous with Tim and he always smiles when he sees me.

"Bye", Tim calls to Conner as he trots behind me back to the Batwing, "See you later." Conner salutes and saunters away. Tim hop skips a few steps to catch up with me. He hasn't bothered with his mask, we're safe in the tower. Though I can tell he wants to stay and talk with Conner some more, he takes a general sort of pleasure in following me and normally doesn't resent having to leave anything behind, no matter what it is. He relishes in having someone to follow.

"What're we gonna do now?" he asks, walking twice as fast as usual to keep up with my long stride. I shorten it a bit and slow so he doesn't have to work so hard. I shrug.

"I have some work."

"Ohh", he says softly, deflating slightly like a balloon well, "Alright then. I guess I'll work out or something." I can't help but grin a little.

"It's like one in the morning for you kid. Bedtime."

"I don't have a bedtime", he replies brightly, giving me his most winning smile, "Anyway, we're over China right now and it's like one in the afternoon for them." I rolled my eyes.

"You're not Chinese", I reply, ruffling his hair. He loves it when I do that and, sure enough, I hear his elated giggle before he starts in with a stream of fluent Chinese. I smirk.

"Just because you can speak it doesn't mean you're one of them." He grins again and bounces a little on the balls of his feet. Sometimes, he can be downright adorable. Unable to resist, I put him in a headlock and muss his hair.

"Hey", he squeals, trying to wriggle out of my grasp, "Let me go." He isn't fighting all that hard though. He likes being close. I release him and we come upon the Batwing, standing majestically in the hanger. "Can I drive?" Tim asks.

"Nope", I say without breaking stride.

"Why not?" he whines.

"Because I said no", I reply smoothly.

"Ok", he murmurs, considerably more softly than he had been speaking before and I realize my mistake. He always used to hear this sort of thing from his father, usually when the man was angry. He assumes I'm displeased with him. I put my arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.

"It's late, you're tired and so am I", I murmur gently to him, my breath tickling his neck. "It's not good for you be driving while you're tired. I really shouldn't be either and I'll probably have her on mostly auto. You can drive in the morning, ok?"

He beams at me and gives an elated, "Yea." I smile back and release him, knowing we have been rectified.

Tim is extremely sensitive and can take things too literally, especially coming from me since I am his father figure and he expects displeasure from me, as his previous father figure was quick to give. I have to be careful about what I say so as not to hurt him. He doesn't mean to be so touchy, but he is nonetheless and I never know which words of mine will cause permanent damage. Hopefully, none ever have.

I hop into one side of the Batwing cockpit and he hops in the other. I turn it on and rev it up while he handles all the instrumentation like the good copilot he is. There is no one better to fly with. Dick has always been a motorcycle sort of person and Jason had his little love affair with the batmobile, but Tim connects best with the 'wing'.

Perhaps he just likes the sensation of flying, having done his fair share of it with Superboy. We take off, soaring out of the hanger and down to earth. The Batwing is a plane and a spaceship, like the semi aquatic of the air, so to speak. I had toyed with the idea of constructing a plane specifically for space missions and ended up getting one eventually, but when I know I'm going to and from no atmosphere settings and will be spending some time closer to earth, I favor the Batwing.

I put the ship in geosynchornos orbit at fourteen thousand miles above the earth and rev the engines slightly. It will be a little while before the ship is over the United States and I can begin our descent, but I am willing to wait for a bit. Space travel is tricky and though sometimes I take risks when I am alone, with Tim in the cockpit, there isn't a chance.

Tim puts his hand on his cheek and gazes out the window. I am on the side facing earth while he is to open space. I feel slightly uneasy at having him on that side, like a parent might feel when their small child in on the side of the car facing the busiest part of the road, but I take some solace in the knowledge that if something attacked, we'd both die, no matter who faces our attacker, so there is nothing I can do anyway. I can only be so protective. Tim likes that I'm protective though. It makes him feel loved.

"Hey Timmy", I say. He turns to face me. I'm using his nickname, which he knows means I'm feeling particularly affectionate. "I got you something."

"What?" he asks. I hand him the box. He opens it quickly and gives an elated cry at the contents. The cream-colored hamster looks up at him with dark interested eyes and proceeds to clean its face. Alfred's gonna kill me, but Tim's been talking about having one of the little creatures for a while and I couldn't resist.

He looks up at me with glee on his face and smiles widely. Ohh, how I love making him smile. There's nothing I like more in the world than that. "The cage is in the back", I say, "I set it up for you. Why don't you put him in so he can settle a bit? Animal man tells me you ought to leave them alone for a while before you start playing with them."

He nods eagerly and unbuckles his belt, climbing carefully into the rear of the Batwing to gingerly place the hamster in the cage. It's tied down so our descent shouldn't muss up the little fellow too much. I release the controls, unbuckle and lean back, stretching and feeling a sense of bliss. When Tim's happy, I'm happy.

Tim comes back and hops into his seat, gazing at me in adoration. There is always a moment right after I do something nice for him when he just looks at me like I am the source of all goodness, quietly basking in me as if I am the sun itself. Some of my happiest moments have been these.

Then, he seems to remember himself and launches into my embrace for the obligatory thank you cuddle. I put my arms around him. I have no complaint. "Thanks", he murmurs happily and then suppresses a yawn. I roll my eyes.

"Told ya you were exhausted." He grins sheepishly and pulls back. Then, he settles himself more comfortably in his seat and leans heavily against the window. He'll probably end up drooling on it, but I don't really care. Soon, his breathing slows and I can tell he is falling asleep. I ease his limbs back into the restraints just as I begin the descent. I would have liked to have had a copilot, but a sleeping boy in the front seat is just as good, maybe better. His slow breathing settles me.

I can hear the hamster digging around in it's bedding, perhaps making a nest. Animal Man said that they did stuff like that. I don't know a lot about hamsters, but it helps to have a man on call that could talk to them.

After about thirty more minutes, I have entered earth's atmosphere. The jolt as we enter the ecosphere wakes Tim and he blinks blearily at me before shaking his head and starting to read instruments, repeating the information back to me. "Thanks buddy", I say, "You can go back to sleep if you want though."

"Can I check my hamster?" he asks.

"Don't unbuckle until we finish descending. We could potentially bump a bit more and I don't want you to get hurt." He nods, taking my words in stride and watching the instruments, rejecting my offer to sleep. Ohh well, he'll sleep when we get back. "What are you gonna call him?" I ask as I grip the controls, gazing straight ahead as we come to the most technical part of our trip.

He pauses and gazes off into the distance, deep in thought. Then, a sly grin creeps across his face and he turns to me. "The bat hamster?" he puts forth with a questioning smirk on his face. I roll my eyes.

"That's original", I mutter as I maneuver the ship through the trickiest section. We come out on the other side and I breathe a sigh of relief. Now, I can relax.

"You don't like it?" he asks.

"I didn't say that", I reply, "Call him whatever you like. He's yours."

"Well, they say hamsters are cleanly little things, I could call him Alfred." I snicker.

"Alfred'll love that."

"I could name him after you, I could call him Bruce." I look at him with raised eyebrows. I shrug. "Then, when you're gone, there'll still be a Bruce around for me to hang out with."

"Just don't expect small Bruce to take you out on patrol."

"That's what I'll call him", Tim says, sitting back with satisfaction in his eyes, "I'll call him small Bruce. SB for short. Sound good?" I nod, smiling at him.

"It think it fits", Tim continues, "hamsters are loners, just like you, they like to work out, just like you do, they're creatures of the night just like you are and they're cuddly, just like you."

I look at him incredulously and say in my most haughty, "I'm hardly cuddly." He gives me an "Ohh really" look and I snort. "Cheeky", I mutter, though a smile is turning the corners of my mouth. He grins and unbuckles to check his new pet. After making certain the hamster is fine, he settles into his seat again and copilots me into the bat hanger.

"I've got some work to do", I say, "you really ought to get to bed."

"But", he starts, "there's this special on TV I really want to see. Please." He gives me his most winning smile. I melt.

"Fine", I say, "but don't stay up too late."

"Ok", he promises excitedly, and he hops out of his seat, scurrying off.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" I ask, hands on my hips. He turns around and gives me a confused look. "Small Bruce?"

"Ohh", he replies, giving me a relieved grin and darts back to retrieve his pet. Then, he starts up the stairs. I sit down to get working on my new case.

An hour has passed and still, nothing new comes of the information I have in front of me. Bored and disgruntled, I stand and start up the stairs. I have already changed into my pajamas and robe and I think perhaps that might have been a mistake. If I had stayed in the suit, my mind might have stayed on task. Ohh well.

Alfred meets me at the top. "A hamster?" he asks, one eyebrow raised. I shrug. "You spoil him", Alfred admonishes and giving me a swat with his feather duster.

I dodge and say, "He likes it."

"That he does", Alfred replies, a small smile gracing his wrinkled features, "That he does. By the way, he's asleep on the couch in front of the television. You should probably do something about that." I nod and start off to Tim's favorite TV room. He likes it so much, I just gave it to him. There are plenty more where that one came from.

Walking in, I see him lying sprawled out on the couch in front of a blaring announcer. I don't know what he's watching. It's not like I really care anyway. I turn the TV off and gaze down at Tim for a moment. I suppose I could leave him on the couch to sleep, but ultimately decide against it. He'll be more comfortable in his bed.

Rather than waking him, I lean down to collect him up into my arms. His head dips and rests against my chest. His breathing is slow and even. He has such a sweet face when he sleeps. Among Jack's belongings, which were given to Tim after he died, there were some baby pictures. When I see him sleeping, he reminds me of those.

I hold him gently as I start up the stairs to his room. When I am halfway up, his eyes blink open blearily and he gazes at me. "Bruce", he murmurs questioningly.

"Yup", I say, "You're going to bed kiddo."

"But my show…" he starts. I shake my head.

"No more, you fell asleep in front of the TV. You ought to get some sleep."

"Fine", he mumbles and closes his eyes again, "Careful though, you're starting to act cuddly." I smirk and give him a little squeeze.

"Yea, I gotta watch that, don't want the Joker to think I'm going soft on him." Tim's small smile is like a shaft of sunlight in the dark halls of the manor. I carry him to his room and, doing my best to still hold him securely with one arm, pull back his sheets and blankets. Then, I lay him down. At least he's already changed into his pajamas, that's one less thing he has to attend to before he goes to sleep.

As usual, Tim's room is spotless. Dick and Jason used to keep their rooms in a constant state of disarray, but Tim keeps his neat as a pin. "Will you stay for a while Bruce" he asks hopefully, "and tell me a story." I run my thumb over his cheek.

"Feeling uneasy little one", I ask. He shakes his head.

"I'd just like a story, if you don't mind that is."

"Not at all", I reply, patting his leg. He puts his head on my lap and I start rubbing his chest. He loves to have his chest rubbed. I start to speak, softly, quietly, about one of my earliest Batman adventures and he listens while his breathing slows. Throughout the entire thing, he gazes up adoringly at me. I tell him several times to close his eyes and he dutifully obliges, but after only a few seconds, one pops open again, as if he is unable to take his eyes off me. It makes me smile.

I finish the story and am surprised he is even still awake. "Thanks", he says softly, voice heavy with sleep.

"Now", I whisper, leaning down close to him so the scent of his breath is one my face "You need to go to sleep." He nods and then lifts his arms, grabbing hold of my robe and pulling on it a little. He wants a cuddle first. I happily oblige, picking him up and shifting as much of him as will fit onto my lap. Then, I lean up against the back of his bed, his head on my shoulder and his chest against mine, and snuggle him. He gives a sigh of pleasure while I hold him tightly, rubbing his back.

"Can I ask you a question?" he says softly.

"Anything son", I reply. I can feel his smile breaking out against my chest at this. He likes it when I call him son.

"Are you my father?" I feel confused at this.

"What do you mean?" I query.

"Do you consider yourself my father?" he asks, rephrasing the question.

"Well", I reply slowly, not quite sure what he wants to hear, "I told you before I don't want to replace your father…"

"No", he says, cutting me off, "Regardless of what you said or of anything, do you consider yourself my father?" I take a deep breath, pause for a moment to collect my thoughts and make sure I am answering him truthfully and then say, "Yes." He heaves a contented sigh, as if that was exactly what he wanted to hear, and snuggles his head into my shoulder.

"I consider myself your son", he murmurs. I feel pride and happiness rise in my chest, blossoming like a rose in the spring.

"And I can't think of any son I'd want to have more", I tell him, knowing how pleased it will make him feel. Sure enough, he trembles slightly with bliss. I hold him for a few moments more before saying, "Alright, now, you have to go to sleep." He gives a sigh and I relent slightly.

'Well, I suppose if you just wanted me to stay here for a while…" His answer is to just close his eyes and lean more heavily into me. I have little doubt in my mind I'll still be here when the morning comes. Holding him is a privilege and one I won't have for very much longer. He was never meant to become my son, but I'm so very glad he did.


End file.
